The Almost Girl
by Miss Rosie Real
Summary: It's been years since Jinx has joined the Titans. But something is missing. Something is always missing. There's a song she can't stop singing, about a girl whose life is made up of almosts.


**The Almost Girl**

**By Rose**

**Disclaimer: I'm only playing with them…**

**(Well that could have been worded better!)**

**Dedication: …Well certainly none of _you_ drags! What have you ever done for me, hmm? Just kidding. Dedication goes to… everyone on my favorites list. Kneel in their presence and repeat after me: "You are not worthy."**

* * *

"_She's my almost beautiful_

_Almost queen_

_Almost on the Cover Girl magazine_

_She's my almost superstar_

_My almost-"_

The radio clicks as I turn it off.

"Well, that's definitely enough of that," I decide after the third verse of the same lyrics. The sudden silence is shocking at first, and I shift uncomfortably back to my sitting position on the toilet seat lid. But I hardly regret turning the song off.

Honestly, the radio overplays that song to near exhaustion.

I push the radio away in dismissal, turning back to my unpainted left toes. I study the pink glittery glue-y content and begin spreading the polish carefully across the ivory nail. The silence begins to thicken and I find myself starting to hum absentmindedly, almost eagerly, just to fill the void of sound.

I've never been one to embrace the Silence is Golden theory. After a few moments, I realize I'm humming the same song from the radio in an off-key, somehow sadder tone.

But another detail captures my attention. "There," I murmur, "Finished," I twist the nail polish brush back into its container and hold up my toes for inspection. The glitter catches the unromantic fluorescent light and shines brightly. I see the smallest paint smear on my middle toe, and an uneven paint job on the last two. Other than that… almost perfect.

The thought is like a cold bucket of water, and the smile that had been growing on my face wavers. "_Almost_ perfect," I repeat dully, suddenly unreasonably unhappy with the paint job. I stand abruptly, walking awkwardly out of the bathroom on my heels to avoid further damaging the paint.

Normally I'm not such a perfectionist. "It's that song," I groan, furrowing my eyebrows. It always puts my in a depressed mood. What kind of love song is that anyway? _Almost_ beautiful? Very smooth, you terrific bastard. That will _definitely_ win the hearts of girls everywhere.

"Then again, who even pays attention to the lyrics anymore? I suppose his popularity depends all on his looks…" Another thought makes me smirk. "Must be some sex god judging how often the song has been played…"

I continue grumbling as I make my way to the kitchen. Destination: refrigerator. Stupid bad romance song.

"You know what?" I say to no one in particular. The ups and downs of living alone. You don't have anyone to talk to… but also no one to question your sanity (other than yourself) when you begin talking to no one.

I continue casually, calmly giving venomous criticism, "That band's probably just a one-hit wonder (which really isn't a hit to begin with). The kind of band who relies on technology to fix their squeaky voices and adds jumpy, bubblegum-pop techno music background to make it more appealing. Now… take all that away and what do you get? Your regular SOS, Substandard Obnoxious Song," I finish the rant off with a vast wave of a retrieved spoon, before digging it into a carton of strawberry ice cream.

I sigh and relax. I almost feel better.

Almost. I can't stand that word.

I narrow my eyes and suck all the frozen deliciousness from the spoon, humming that annoyingly catchy tune.

…I could kill myself for being a hypocrite.

It happens so often, though, it doesn't seem worth making the threat.

Okay, now I'm really depressed. Ice cream, for the first time in the history of… emotional women everywhere, you have failed me. I gasp dramatically, sarcastically, and slam the fridge door shut.

Remembering the nails, I strut out of the kitchen and back to my bedroom. The door closes shut. It's dark and cool. I glance around the room, at the centered queen sized bed, the small writing desk in the corner, and the cluttered dresser. Windows surround almost the entire room, a prank the architect must have pulled on heavy duty sleep in-ers.

Thank god for velvet curtains then. Dust collectors and professional sun blockers. The heavy purple curtains are forever closed shut, bathing the entire room in a violet light. I walk towards my bed, sitting on the very edge. Almost falling.

_Almost_. It's getting ironic. But still unintentional.

Whatever impulsive annoyance I had for the word is steadily linking to unmentionable, forbidden topics of thought.

I close my eyes tight. I want to stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking… I lie back and close my mind.

Minutes or seconds pass, but I lift myself back up. I need to see something. I stand and walk towards my dresser, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Pale, tinted gray skin. Large, pink eyes. I wear large blue shirt that hangs over one shoulder and gray pajama bottoms. Nothing really seems to fit me perfectly. Pink hair, still damp from an earlier shower. I run my fingers through it, setting it down on my shoulders. Am I pretty?

I remember the lyrics, "Almost beautiful," They suddenly sting. They're true.

I continue running my fingers through my hair, massaging my head, breathing in the rosemary mint scent. I scan the desk, glancing from the hair brush to the dried lavender bouquet. I spy two pictures. One of Hive days, those beginning teenage years filled with bad fashion statements and lots of hairspray… I smile slightly, staring at the grinning girl in the picture, walking with Stone- ahh, _Cyborg_, a heavy arm draped over her shoulder. I trace the arm, trying to remember that day… four years ago? Five? I recall walking the cool dorms of Hive Academy, studying for tests and seminar presentations between class periods… I stare at the picture carefully. Cyborg's hand disappears behind my neck, and I remember. His fingers used to wrap around the curls of my neck.

_Nothing_ gave me shivers like that.

I flip the picture over, shaking myself. I turn to the other one. Sight-seeing with Kid Flash. I can remember that day easily. Too much sun, too much walking, and a whole lot of laughing. "Wally West," I sigh, shaking my head. The picture is of the bridge. I'm staring out into the water, listening to something Wally is saying. As for Wally, his body is blurred, too fast for any camera to capture.

It's not the only thing he's too fast for, I think dryly. For such an easy going guy, his mood swings come and go within the blink of an eye. He changes his mind faster than he changes his speed. Impatient and impulsive, and for all the moral advice he spouts off, I know for a fact that he _needs_ someone to listen to him. Not even that, just… be with him. Keep him entertained, if you will. He needs some sort of stability after racing from friend to friend.

I suppose that's where I come in. I'm the only one he can be with for more than an hour… Sometimes I wonder if he needs me more than I need him.

Sometimes I think he realizes this and it really irritates him… but I can't really know for sure. He leaves whenever this seems to come up, out the door before I know what's happened or if he's upset or just bored of me. I smile sadly. He really is too fast for me.

I turn the picture over and look over to my nightstand, to the digital clock. It's about seven thirty, I have about fifteen minutes.

Restless, I slip one dried lavender blossom out of its bouquet and walk out of my bedroom. I take a moment and look around my apartment, at the scratched up pine floor, the green walls and white trim. Small kitchen attached to the messy but comfortable living room, a small office/library and a tiny bathroom. I've always wanted a home of my own, and simply looking around my apartment normally cheers me up. Apparently not this time. I lift the lavender to my nose, inhaling the sweet, faint scent as I walk toward my favorite spot. The balcony.

The view isn't particularly breath-taking, the display of rows and rows of apartment buildings and clotheslines. But I love simply standing by the rail and thinking.

I rewrite lyrics as I approach the balcony rail.

_Almost beautiful_. It's probably a little difficult to call a skinny, albino, pink headed girl drop dead gorgeous. I know I'm not ugly. Sure, I could probably do something about my appearance…

I don't care to though. I mean, who exactly am I trying to impress? Almost beautiful. I frown, disliking the words. I could establish again how horribly unromantic that is… but then it hits me. Maybe it's not a love song at all. The thought drags me back down, physically, as I sink down to the iron balcony floor. I lean my head against the gate, eyes closed. _This is not a love song._ So why did I assume?

I try to stop thinking, and then I begin to hum. Distractedly, I continue writing the lyrics…

_Almost happy._ Could I be happy? Everyone wants to be happy, I'm sure. Most people cling to the idea that they _need_ someone to be happy. Cyborg immediately comes into my mind. I remember the feel of his arms around me, his hands curled around my neck, fingers intertwined in my hair. _Almost loved. _And we're back to love… I change this to a love song. I smile, clutching the gate like my life depends on it. As though it could prevent myself from wishing.

I shake myself. Better to stay as a down-to-earth kind of girl. Hurts less.

Thinking about Cyborg always brings me to thinking about Wally. It's like an endless triangle. A very tiring pattern. Wally. Everyone expects us to end up together but… _Almost in love._

I know that will never happen. He's the fastest boy alive. And I'm just his latest charity case. My smile turns bitter. _Almost saved._

I hear three sharp, staccato knocks at the door. I open my eyes at the distant streets below, watching passing cars for a few seconds before rising. "Coming," I call, glancing at the hallway mirror absentmindedly. I fix my bangs quickly before answering.

SeeMore waits in the hall, hands dug deep into his jean pockets. He gives a one-handed awkward wave. "Hey, Jinx… how's it going?"

I glance around the hallway. Deserted. I invite him in quickly, locking the door behind me. "SeeMore," I say hesitantly, smiling. It's good to see him. "It's been…"

"Years," he answers, nodding. "I know, it seems like forever,"

I nod back, crossing my arms. "So…"

"You look… great, Jinx," He says, glancing up and down. It used to give me the creeps, his constant staring, often mistaken for leering. But, surprisingly, it's just one of those things to get used to.

"Still observant, I see," I joke, shoving him lightly. The unbearable silence sneaks back in. "Do you want something to drink?" I blurt.

SeeMore glances around, avoiding my gaze. "You… you won't call the cops, will you?" The question makes me flinch, as I think about the answer. He was still part of the very active Hive Five. Robin had personally asked me to give him any heads up if I were to see any of the members, or if they were to communicate with me in any way.

It had taken years to earn that sort of trust.

"No," I say honestly, surprising myself. "No, I won't," I didn't want to turn my friends in. It wasn't that I was afraid of them hating me. Really, I had no problem with betraying them in the first place, so them hating me wasn't the issue. I just genuinely didn't want to put SeeMore in jail. I shook my head, heading towards the kitchen, trying not to think. Regardless, the lyrics slip out.

_Almost good._

"You do want something to drink right?" I ask, realizing I hadn't gotten an answer. SeeMore follows me in, eying the white and yellow tiles, the pale green walls. "Yeah, that'd be great. Got anything to eat?"

I roll my eyes and nod. That's very much like the SeeMore I know. "Yeah. Leftover Chinese takeout, tuna, pickles, ramen, soup, peanut butter, Hershey kisses, ice cream… any of these sounding good?"

SeeMore smirks. "I'll have some of that take out, if you don't mind," I do. It's the last of the lo mein noodles.

"Sure," I grumble grudgingly, wishing I hadn't offered. I passed over the container. "And to drink?"

"Got any beer?"

I glare this time. "Eat my noodles, but the Coronas are mine," He grins at me but relents. "Alright… so what about some pop?"

"Coke… root beer…milk…"

"I'll take the coke. Please," he adds at my raised eyebrow. I retrieve it and return with the peanut butter and two spoons. Just as I suspect, once finishing the noodles, he grabs the spare spoon and digs in. I smile despite my slight disgust. "Don't they feed you?"

It's the first time Hive Five is brought up and I regret it instantly. He frowns, trying to make light of the situation. "Yeah," he says slowly. I know he's thinking about how to word what he wants to say. Finally he cracks a smile, "Three square meals a day,"

I grin back. "That's it? Don't you usually get off with six at least?"

"I'm getting old, Jinx the Minx, I can't handle such gluttony. What kind of ice cream did you say?"

I don't react to the humor at first. My heart tugs at the nickname and I sigh despite myself. "SeeMore, when you called me… I didn't think it was going to be about feeding you-,"

SeeMore cuts me off quickly, "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm avoiding it, it's just… I don't know, I've just missed you is all,"

I soften slightly. "I've missed you too, it's just-," Before I can finish, he breaks into a huge smile.

"You have?"

I blink and nod, "Yeah, but-,"

"Then come back with me,"

All the air rushes out of me. "SeeMore…" I can't go back. I don't want to go back. Even if I did… I couldn't. I've come so far. It wouldn't be the same. _I'm_ not the same. "SeeMore, you have to understand," I begin, trying not to see that hurt register on his face. His enormous glass eye penetrates into mine. "I can't go back,"

"You can," he disagrees instantly. "Just take my hand and I promise no one will catch you," He holds his hand out for me, and I find myself tempted, just as I was all those years ago when Wally had offered help.

But I hadn't taken his hand. Not even then.

"No, SeeMore, I can't do that," I say.

"Can't or won't?" He demands petulantly.

"Both!" I explode, louder than I mean to. A moment of silence follows this. Finally, SeeMore rises to leave. "I'm not the same person," I say quietly.

He sighs, and then nods in grudging acceptance. "I guess… but you didn't call the police,"

No, I recall. I didn't. "And I won't," I promise.

_Almost evil_, I think, not knowing whether to smile or sigh. "You should go," I say finally.

And when he does, I know he won't come back.

Missing him even before he goes, I hug myself, feeling melancholy. He leaves and all the air rushes out of me when he does. This is some sort of milestone… I can feel it.

And I almost call him back. "Almost," I say in a sing-song voice, rolling my eyes. Then again, that's isn't it? _The Almost Girl_. How very appropriate. Grabbing a beer, I head back toward the balcony, humming my song on my way.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**It was a challenge. I don't know whether people will like this or not. Is it boring? A dumb theme? Hmm. I don't know. I've been messing with it for so long, I just kind of want to get rid of it…**

**This is the first of a series of other oneshots I'm working on. Another is Jinx themed, but I think much more Wally/Jinx friendly.**

**As for their relationship in this story, I just wanted to look at it from a different angle. More of a Cyborg/Jinx/Wally sort of thing, without the cliché fights, insults, and internal angst. No, I think Jinx would see even that with dry, sarcastic humor.**

**Please tell me what you think!**

**-Rose**


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